


A fine line

by Ferrera



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Pining Dean Winchester, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 16:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20231029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrera/pseuds/Ferrera
Summary: Shaping himself to John’s liking is an art Dean perfected years ago.





	A fine line

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://holdmesamthatwasbeautiful.tumblr.com/post/186906278861) post and Ninni's lovely tags to it.
> 
> Dean's age isn't mentioned. I imagine him to be seventeen-ish, but it's up to the reader, really.

  
Shaping himself to John’s liking is an art Dean perfected years ago.  
  
He’s sitting on the bed, waiting, watching as Dad takes the seat in front of him. Dad’s still wearing his Fed suit. He’s either dressed up or drunk when they do this. Sometimes both. 

Today, though, it’s only the suit. 

“Look at you,” Dad murmurs, his gaze slowly leaving Dean’s face, trailing down his body. 

Dean’s not wearing much. Socks. One of Dad’s too-big flannels, all the way unbuttoned, allowing Dad’s eyes to roam over his pale chest. A pair of plain cotton panties from the women’s underwear section at Walmart, white except for the dark spot already forming at the front. 

Dad reaches for his ankle, lifts his foot, holds it in both hands. His hands are warm, strong. Dean’s heart speeds up in his chest, dick leaking some more. Dad eyes the wet spot, then looks back up at Dean.

“What do you want, Dean,” he murmurs as he rubs over the arch of Dean’s foot. “Why’d you dress up like this?” 

Dean’s never drunk when they do this. Doesn’t need to be. He’s always dressed up a little, though. But not the way Dad is. Not full-on. Just enough to look a little less like himself, just enough that Dad won’t look away in guilt. 

“Want you to look at me,” Dean says, sounding a little hoarse. It’s always hard to find his voice. Being dressed like this doesn’t make anything easier. Not for him. 

Dad never asks for a specific outfit. Doesn’t have to. Dean knows just what he likes. He doesn’t give a crap about satin and lace. He’d laugh Dean in the face if he ever dressed up in the pair of silky, soft pink panties Dean keeps hidden in a sewn-in pocket in his duffle. Anything too feminine is a no-go. He’d tell Dean to get that crap off his face if Dean would ever show him what a little mascara and some cherry-colored lip balm can do. That too is safely hidden in the secret pocket of his duffle. 

“Am lookin’, kid,” Dad says, fingers trailing up Dean’s ankle, eyes on the white cotton of his socks. He rests Dean’s shin in his hand, eyes traveling up his thighs, to the shape of his hard dick straining his panties. 

Dad doesn’t like anything too fancy. Just something that softens Dean’s edges a bit, something that makes him seem a little younger, a little more pliant. A loose tank top. Knee-high socks. One of Dad’s old Marine shirts, long and wide enough to look like a nightgown on him. Sam’s old soccer shorts, short enough to expose most of his thighs. 

But no skirts or dresses. No tight spaghetti tops, no real lingerie. _You’re my boy. Act like one_. So Dean walks a fine line between femininity and masculinity, between softness and strength. Acts like Dad whenever they’re on a hunt or when it’s just the three of them crammed up in another motel room. Tones it down when he’s with Sam, or when he’s alone with Dad like this, Sam dropped off at Bobby’s. 

“Want you to touch me,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice even. Dad doesn’t want to see insecurity, doesn’t want to see fragility. Hums in approval whenever Dean goes down to his knees or spreads his legs for him like Dad told him to, but he’d snort in disdain if he knew Dean fingers himself at night, fantasizing about Dad fucking him missionary style, calling him his wife; fantasizes about cuddling and being little spoon afterwards. Dad loathes femininity because he loathes weakness. Dean figured that out a long time ago. 

Dad doesn’t want him to play housewife. Doesn’t want Dean to open himself up to him, to expose himself completely. 

He just wants Dean to obey. And Dean knows how to walk the line. 

Dad’s good little soldier, and nothing else.  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Been a while since I wrote some John/Dean and I'm actually glad I managed to keep it short. I don't like John the way I wrote him here tbh, but I just love Dean like this.
> 
> Tumblr post including the pic can be found [here](https://saintedevote.tumblr.com/post/187006696804/shaping-himself-to-johns-liking-is-an-art-dean) if you'd like to save/reblog.


End file.
